Thursday, September 29, 2011

I said the other day that I've always preferred my bicycle to my car. It's a more civilized form of transport that respects the environment and promotes the health of the rider. For short distance travel it cannot be surpassed, and even for slightly longer journeys it is surprisingly effective. But today too many people are blinded to the advantages of the bicycle by the omnipresent danger presented by the motor car.

In fact, the bicycle is not an especially dangerous form of transport and over the whole population of riders is responsible for prolonging a vastly greater number of lives than it curtails. However, the average potential cyclists sees multiple high-speed tons of metal whizzing up and down the road and pictures what would happen to their body and the bike if one came into contact with them. In that imagining they turn their backs on cycling. And that prevents - at least in the UK - the establishment of a critical mass of cyclists that have to be catered for by better cycle paths, space on main roads, more realistic speed limits, parking etc. I took today's photograph in Peterborough, an English city that makes better provision for cycling than most. Yet, the cycle stands in the pedestrian areas were nowhere near full, and cyclists on roads, though present, were not visible in great numbers. If cycling cannot thrive in this flat city, I reflected, where will it?

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

In yesterday's post I called Henry VIII's order for the Dissolution of the Monasteries an act of vandalism. It was as far as the laying to waste of many fine abbeys, monasteries and priories went. But it was also a political act, part of his move to usurp the pope as head of the English church and replace him with himself and all subsequent sovereigns. It had the added advantage, of course, of shifting the enormous wealth of the monastic establishments into the hands of the crown and the exchequer. But, though many fine buildings were wholly or partly destroyed some were retained to act as regional centres of the new Church of England. One such building is at Peterborough.

What became the cathedral in 1541, and remains so today, was until the time of the Reformation, a Benedictine monastery. It was founded by Peada, King of Mercia in about 650 AD. It suffered sacking at the hands of the Danes (870) and Hereward (1070) though the church was spared in the second assault only to suffer a great fire in 1116. In the present building some pre-conquest remains are eviden, but most of the work dates from 1118 and later.

The west front (seen above) was completed by the time of the great consecration in 1238. Stylistcally it is what architectural historians call Early English. The three great arches or portals that mark the facade indicate the nave (centre) and the flanking aisles. For reasons best known to whover instigated it, a porch was added to the central arch at the end of the fourteenth century. Many who see it accept it, but to my eye it is, with the large window above and behind it, an intrusion on the essentially lancet forms of the front.

I've photographed this facade a few times but have never been entirely happy with the outcomes. On the day of my recent visit the sky and light were kinder than previously and I secured this shot. I've converted it to black and white to better emphasise the details.

Monday, September 26, 2011

Anyone looking at today's main photograph who saw the preceding blog post will be thinking, "OK, I see St Andrew's church, but where's the priory?" The answer is, it's under the long, regular shaped patch of uncultivated land in the middle foreground.

Like many medieval priories, abbeys, and monasteries, the building erected by St Gilbert and his followers that was the birthplace of the Gilbertines, the only monastic order to be founded in Britain, was abandonded in 1538 on the orders of Henry VIII. The Dissolution of the Monasteries as this act of vandalism was known resulted in the disappearance of many fine buildings. Others became ruins that later generations and their poets and painters found romantic. Quite a few ended up converted into rich men's houses. Some were reduced in size with an aisle left to be converted into a parish church. Local examples of the latter include South Kyme church and Croyland Abbey at Crowland.

At Sempringham the Clinton family bought the Priory and had the great building taken down. A hall was built on the site, probably using the stone. This had a shorter life than the ecclesiastical building that it replaced, and all that remains today of both buildings are foundations below ground and some surface rubble. A well associated with the Priory can be seen in the corner of the churchyard, and the outline of the canons' and nuns' (the Gilbertines uniquely admitted men and women) fishponds can be seen by a small stream. As we walked across the field we noticed that the ploughman had thrown a few large stones, scored by the plough, onto the track, something that many generations of ploughmen must have done as they kept turning up evidence of the great buildings below the soil's surface.

The main photograph was taken towards the end of our walk as we passed the church and Priory site at a distance. Earlier in the day we'd walked on a path nearer St Andrew's. It was then that I took the smaller photograph from a viewpoint where I took a similar shot a few years ago.

For more of my photographs of Sempringham church and its long-gone Priory see here and here for a fine old door, and here for a similar view to the smaller one above.

Friday, September 23, 2011

When I was a teenager I remember reading a book by the Dutch-American professor of history at Cornell University, Hendrik Willem van Loon (1882-1944). A prolific author, he specialized in writing books for younger people about history and the arts. Speaking of churches in the English landscape he noted that they fitted into it so well, better than was the case elsewhere. And it's certainly true, I think, that our churches do embellish the countryside and only rarely look like interlopers. Often it's the surrounding trees of the churchyard that makes the church nestle into its village or fields. Frequently its the weathered native stone that seems right for both the building and the location. And even where the church stands up tall and proud, clearly seen, the vertical accent that it adds to the view invariable looks complementary rather than dissonant. English painters long recognised this, and the likes of Constable, Turner, Cotman, and many others, were careful to include churches in their landscapes.

Today's photograph shows a distant prospect of the church of St Andrew at Sempringham, Lincolnshire. Standing some way from the nearest houses, out in the fields, it made a fine sight as we passed by on a recent walk. Parts of it date from the twelfth century, but fourteenth, fifteenth and nineteenth century additions comprise the rest. It wasn't always a solitary building. Until the sixteenth century a fine priory stood nearby but Henry VIII did for that as he did for so many, and today it must be enjoyed in splendid and picturesque isolation, the perfect subject for a passing photographer.

Thursday, September 22, 2011

I've never been a car buff, I've always preferred my bicycle. Though I do own a car it's with reluctance and I've always seen motor vehicles as destructive, things that have wreaked havoc on planning and urban settlements. However, I've also found them an undeniable source of humour as regular readers of this blog will know. With this outlook, as you can imagine, my conversations with other men about cars don't follow the usual path. My wife pretty much shares that outlook. And yet it is her proud boast that in the 1980s she could identify most of the cars seen on Britain's roads. How so? Well, our oldest son, from the age of two and from the vantage point of his pushchair, wanted to know what to call each one he saw, so my wife had to read the names and then tell him. He would delight in spotting further examples and tell my wife about them.

But, I am not a complete transport illiterate, and I do have some expertise in locomotive identification, particularly those that travelled the lines of British Rail in the 1980s. You might have guessed that I gained it from the same source. My son's interest in things transport-related expanded to trains and I learned the names alongside him. So, I can tell a Deltic from a Class 37, a Class 47 from a Class 50, and the minutiae of the Class 8 shunter is no stranger to me. However, my interest continued only as long as it took for my son to learn more by himself, and so I have little knowledge of subsequent developments. Consequently, when I came to give a title to the photograph of the diesel multiple unit (DMU) in today's photograph that I took while waiting at Grantham station to meet someone travelling on it, I had to look it up.

Of all the specialist photographers, those photographing trains are some of the most driven. Invariably (and unlike me) they do it in support of their hobby or interest, and with a dedication that is a marvel to behold. Moreover, they document each image with a level of detail that few other photographers match: name of type of loco, specific name, number, location, route, time, specific variables of one sort or another, camera details etc. My poor effort doesn't match this level of care and attention.* It was an "opportunity shot", and is only the third train photograph to appear on this blog. My other efforts are here and here.

* In the spirit of a real train photographer I should say that this photograph was taken on Wednesday 21st September and shows a Class 180 (No. 109) First Hull Trains DMU on the 10:30am Hull to King's Cross service at Grantham station, Lincolnshire. It had departed 20 minutes late and arrived at Grantham at 12:19pm, 18 minutes late, due to a line problem.

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Approach Peterborough from almost any direction and you can see its position from miles away. It isn't the cathedral that looms over the centre that catches your eye, nor is it some gleaming tower broadcasting the city to the wider world - the modern buildings in Peterborough aren't too tall. Rather, it's the cluster of chimneys of the brickworks, each with its plume of smoke trailing downwind that marks the settlement. There are fewer chimneys today than in the past but sufficient to make the city unique.

Brick-making in Peterborough is based on the local clay and became a major industry with the building of the railways. In the nineteenth century it was a fairly local undertaking, but from around 1890, with the exploiting of the Fletton clay that is suitable for making harder bricks, output soared. In the twentieth century the Peterborough area was the dominant brick-producing locality in Britain.

The other day, when I visited the city to do a little shopping and photography, I passed the building known as Peterscourt. This brick building with stone detailing is on City Road. It was built in 1856-64 by the prolific architect, Sir G. G. Scott, as a teacher training college for men. It subsequently became council offices, and is today the Eco Innovation Centre. It's a building I've wanted to photograph for a while with its long facade with ranks of tall chimneys. The clear, lowish September sun and sharp shadows of the day of my visit were perfect for architectural photography. Unfortunately, however, parked cars and sundry roadworks and street furniture prevented me getting the image I wanted. But, as I passed the end of the building, I noticed this wall with its doorway and window raked by the light. The sharpness conferred by the side illumination combined with the cleaned brickwork and painted stonework gave me something of a feeling for what Scott's building must have looked like when it was first built. I don't know if it uses Peterborough bricks, though it surely must. What I do know is it is a fine testament to the architect's handling of the material and a credit to the city that the building remains in use and in good repair.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Blogger is an entirely free blogging platform that works well, is regularly updated, and serves the needs and desires of millions of people. Consequently, it seems a touch churlish to complain about changes or shortcomings. If it was a service that users paid for then voicing grievances might seem more reasonable, but when no money changes hands it can appear somewhat ungrateful. And yet, few companies give away products without receiving something in return, and presumable Google (who own Blogger) gets something to its advantage from the service. Moreover, user feedback is useful to anyone who sells, operates or markets a product, and it is with this in mind that the following observations are offered.

A week or so ago, with no warning, Blogger introduced a "Lightbox" view of enlarged images set against a black background. Prior to this the clicked image had been displayed in the top left of a white screen. I don't mind the new black background because it complements my template colour - but of all the changes to the viewing mode it's the only one that I'm happy about. The fact is, the Lightbox view doesn't work at all with some posts four or five years old - the old system kicks in. Worse still, with some posts a couple of years old the screen goes black and a tiny red rectangle appears, but no enlarged photograph. So, far from working across the Blogger platform, as advertised, it works on newer posts only intermittently or not at all on older posts. Others have deplored the fact that to escape the Lightbox you have to click an "X", whereas regular readers use the "Back" arrow. Doing that now takes you out of the blog, which isn't what many want. Photobloggers (though not me) have also complained that the Lightbox view doesn't allow them to show their photographs at full resolution because it restricts the size of display and compresses the image in order to do so. There is a rising clamour for Blogger to make this new feature something you can choose or ignore when you configure a set up. That would be the best option and, given Blogger's usual responsiveness, I expect that to happen - but not for a while!

Today's photographs come from the Bicker Steam Threshing event that I featured in a couple of earlier posts here and here. In retrospect the large photograph is better than the earlier photograph that I posted of the traction engine driver.

Monday, September 19, 2011

I've said elsewhere in this blog that specialising - in photography or anything else for that matter - is anathema to me. I like to cast my net wide and take an interest in many things, none, I think, to excess. I have the feeling that this is a minority outlook and that there are more people who limit their interests and pursue them to a greater depth. Certainly that seems to be the case in photography.

Portraits, street photography, wildlife, motor sports, macros, landscapes, the list goes on with regard to the specialised subject areas that photographers concentrate on. I suppose that, just as those who specialise do it because they are driven in that particular direction, I too have little choice about pointing my camera at anything that catches my eye. In fact, that phrase, "catches my eye", sums up the reason for many of the photographs that I take: I simply saw something that looked like it had the makings of an image and I pointed my camera at it.

Today's photograph exemplifies this. I was walking in our hall when I noticed a vase of flowers caught in a shaft of light from the fast setting sun. It was throwing the shadows of the leaves and blooms onto the nearby wall. The combination of the actual flowers and their doppleganger appealed and so I took this shot. I may have been influenced in doing so by a similar photograph I took last October. That image is one that I especially like, and perhaps I was trying to achieve something similar. This time, however, I went for a slightly more abstract composition and produced an effect that reminds me of a cotton print such as might feature on a dress or curtains.

Sunday, September 18, 2011

I've said elswhere in this blog that I think "the camera ALWAYS lies" is a truer statement than "the camera NEVER lies." I've also come to realise, over the years, that photographs often deceive unwittingly. In fact, "lies" is frequently too strong a word: "give a false impression" sums it up rather better.

This misleading comes about through the way that we compose images. Photographers are usually selective of the view before them, deciding what will be included in the shot and what will be left out. Sometimes they are less careful than that and are so fixed on what they want in the photograph they simply don't care or notice what is omitted. And, when this happens, the image can give a viewer who doesn't know the subject that we are presenting, a false impression.

Today's image is an example of this. It shows a tractor hauling a couple of disc harrows, one with tines, over a field that has been cleared of wheat. The scene is in Lincolnshire, a county that is considered by many English people to be sparsely populated, flat (or flattish), treeless, with few hedges, and devoted exclusively to arable agriculture. This photograph reinforces every one of those ideas which are, in fact, misconceptions. It was taken in a part of Lincolnshire where the Fens give way to low rolling hills (there are also higher rolling hills - the Lincolnshire Wolds). If I had not wanted the sparse composition that I did and had shown a wider view it would have included more of these hills and trees and hedges (just out of shot). Had I panned left I'd have photographed an old manor house surrounded by trees with adjacent pasture, paddocks for horses and small copses, with further away, some cattle. The stereotypical image that I have produced gives a false impression of the area in which it was taken.

For another (compositionally similar) example of this, and similar comments (in the last paragraph), see here.

Friday, September 16, 2011

The Guardian tells me that in a public poll to mark the start of British Food Fortnight the county of Lincolnshire was "revealed" (see my earlier post about the use of this word) to be "the UK's favourite food spot." The article went on to quote Rachel Green, farmer and chef, as saying that "the heritage food of this county really is the pig." To that I say, well, yes, up to a point.

Whilst pigs have long been a food animal of this eastern county, and are prominent today, other foodstuffs have also played a significant part in its agriculture. The importance of sheep in the medieval agriculture of Lincolnshire remains written across its villages and towns in the form of the county's magnificent medieval churches. And, though it was their wool that provided the source of most of the income that funded these buildings, the economy then, as now, used every part of an animal and mutton was a food that figured large in Lincolnshire. Today cereals and vegetables are undoubtedly the main agricultural produce of the county, especially on the fertile Fenlands, and are what it is best known for.

Let's not forget that cattle too were once more widespread in Lincolnshire than they are today, being raised for beef, milk and by-products such as hide. The many roads called "droves" remind us of this, as do some of the derelict farms. I photographed the abandoned buildings above on one recent sunlit evening, and what caught my eye was the raised platform by the barn doors on the left of the picture. It was surely the place where churns full of milk from the farm's herd were placed for daily collection. Today, in the milk producing areas of the country a tanker carries out this task, but when I was a child in the Yorkshire Dales such platforms were commonplace and in regular use. There are few - if any - milk herds on the Fens today, but on the Wolds and in other parts of Lincolnshire they are still to be found.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

A while ago someone I know told me that her farmer son had taken delivery of a new combine harvester. "What colour is it?" I asked. When I heard it was green I said, "Tell him he bought the wrong colour!" I have no interest in the make of farm machinery, so my observation wasn't prompted by any loyalty to, say, Massey Ferguson over John Deere. It's simply that, as any photographer knows, a red combine harvester munching its way across a field of wheat makes a better photograph than a green one: red has more visual punch, and even a distant shot of a combine painted red has weight in a composition.

And, what goes for combine harvesters goes for tractors too. I took a few shots of this green tractor pulling its harrow of tines and discs across the stubble of a harvested Fenland wheat field, but only in those photographs with the machine relatively near the camera did the tractor have sufficent visual weight to give compositional balance for the dominant wind turbines.

That afternoon's photographic outing produced little of worth in terms of images, but did prove interesting ornithologically speaking. Driving along a dead straight drove road I came upon a wood pigeon and what appeared to be a couple of collared doves that were reluctant to take flight from the tarmac. As I got nearer the colours and markings of the smaller birds revealed them to be turtle doves (Streptopelia turtur). In the UK this species is the most rapidly declining farmland bird. Numbers have fallen by 70% since the mid-1990s. The intensification of farming and continental hunting are thought to be the cause of the reduction in numbers. Consequently I was thrilled to see this pair, quite late in the season in the intensively farmed Lincolnshire Fens just before they depart for warmer southern climes.

Monday, September 12, 2011

Today's photograph is taken at the other side of the threshing machine that features in yesterday's shot. You can see the smoke from the traction engine's funnel rising above the trailer of wheat that is being forked into the thresher. The green traction engine visible on the other side of the baler is powering a large wood saw. On the side of the baler someone has painted the date, 1946. I'm informed that the threshing machine and the baler are both of the same date, having been bought by the same person at the same time. I'd imagined, given the wooden spoked wheels of the thresher and the pneumatic tyres of the baler, that the threshing machine was older, but apparently that's not the case. Incidentally, the baler's plate says, "The Powell Baling Press" and the maker's name, "Powell and Co, St Helens".

After I posted yesterday's photograph I received an email from someone asking how I'd achieved the painterly effect of the image. He wondered if I'd applied a proprietary Photoshop action or somesuch. In fact, I simply did what I sometimes do with shots where I want this effect: I underexposed the original shot, Recovered the blown highlights, applied the Shadows and Highlights slider, then increased the Contrast. I then tweaked the final image with a little selective Dodging and Burning. The final result isn't too far away from what the camera captured, but the alteration of the balance of light and dark does give the shot something of the quality of a painting.

There are those who don't like this sort of thing, feeling that photography is about recording and that means accepting what the camera produces. My view is that using a camera for making records is fine, but the device is mainly about making pictures, and the dumb machine can rarely do that unaided. Firstly, it does not record what you saw: if you want a better record you have to process the camera's output to make it more closely approximate to what your eye/brain "sees". Secondly, a picture (as opposed to a record shot) usually requires pre- and post-exposure input to emphasise the qualities that the photographer needs to achieve his conception. In the past this involved lens, film, speed, and aperture selection before the shot and various printing processes afterwards - paper choice, dodging, burning, chemical choice etc. Very few of the significant photographers in the history of the craft/art made no use of such things and many chose their printers by name and instructed them specifically about how they wanted the print to look. That process, using a sensor and computer/printer continues today.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

Mankind has a great capacity for invention. Throughout the ascent from cave to skyscraper inventions have been one of the driving forces of change, progress and a better life for many. But not every invention is an unalloyed good. For every person who argues that nuclear weapons have prevented a third world war, there are many more who would wish that they had never seen the light of day. And the fact is, though we can invent, we cannot un-invent: once something has been formulated and exists there seems to be no easy way to prevent it existing - though nuclear war might accomplish it!

The first threshing machine was invented by a Scotsman, Andrew Meikle, in the 1780s. It was designed to take the place of hand flails in separating the grain from the husks and stalks. Hand threshing was slow, arduous and labour intensive and a machine offered speed, ease and a reduction in cost for the farmer. It didn't take long for those employed on farms to realise that such inventions reduced the number of jobs available. The Swing Riots of the 1830s were caused, in part, by the increasing adoption of threshing machines, and the rioters particularly targeted them as they roamed the countryside giving vent to their fury. The early machines were horse-powered though a primitive steam engine was used to provide power as early as 1799. However, it wasn't until the 1830s and later that steam-powered threshing machines became widely used, and they remained busy into the mid-twentieth century when combine harvesters replaced them.

Today's photograph shows a threshing machine built by William Foster and Company of Lincoln. I don't know when it dates from, but it is probably the early twentieth century. I photographed it at work, powered by a big traction engine, at the Bicker Steam Threshing event. This is an annual country fair held in the village of Bicker, Lincolnshire, that features traction engines in particular. A strong wind was making the work of those feeding the threshing machine with their pitchforks a little more unpleasant than it otherwise might have been.

Saturday, September 10, 2011

I couldn't have been more pleased when the legislation forbidding smoking in public buildings came into effect in the UK. My only regret was that it didn't extend to outdoor public spaces, so in common with other non-smokers, I have to endure second-hand smoke when I walk down the street, sit in a pub garden or run the gauntlet at the door of a building where smokers who work inside are gathered, getting their regular fix of nicotine.

At the time the laws came into force some argued that smoking was in decline and consequently we should let it take its natural course without any legal proscription. That always seemed a weak argument to me, with one exception: pipe smokers. A few eccentric youths excepted, pipe smoking is an old man's habit, and is the pleasure of visibly fewer with each passing year. When I was younger the pungent smell of a pipe was common, and smoking one seemed to involve rites and mysteries. People argued over the type of wood that was best, whether upstart plastic had a place, how to pack the bowl and ignite it and much else too. There even seemed to be penknives equipped with tools suitable for maintaining the wretched things. Today pipe smokers are a mercifully rare sight.

I came across the man in today's photograph sitting atop a steam engine that was powering an old fashioned threshing machine at a Lincolnshire country fair. The pipe didn't seem out of place in this context, nor did the deer-stalker hat and overalls. And as far as the pong from the pipe goes, it was inconsequential to the point of invisibility when measured against the smell from the funnel of his steam engine!

Thursday, September 08, 2011

Yesterday's photograph of marbles was not the first shot that I took of the subject. I was using a macro lens, and as is my way (in fact many people's way) I turn off auto-focus when I use such a lens on a tripod. The first thing I saw when I put my eye to the viewfinder was the out of focus highlights on the marbles and the soft shapes and colours around them. So, after I'd taken my in-focus shots I experimented with out of focus shots, adjusting the focus to points in front of and then behind the main subject. Here's a few of the images that I gathered. If the truth be known, I prefer them to yesterday's sharp image. A lot of people obsess over sharpness in photographs. It's good to be reminded that deliberately de-focussing can produce results of interest and beauty.

Wednesday, September 07, 2011

In these straitened times few businesses are booming. However, one that is doing well, according to a newspaper article I read recently, is that which provides extra storage for people's belongings. In recent years these places seem to have popped up across the country. Sometimes it's a redundant mill or warehouse that has storage units in it; elsewhere I've seen shipping containers stacked several high with metal stairs and balconies giving access to them. The idea is that people pay a monthly rent for the use of one and can store in them those articles that won't fit in their houses or which are used irregularly and take up too much space.

There seems to be a couple of reasons for such places. Firstly, we burden ourselves with much more "stuff" than ever before, and secondly, there is less movement in the housing market so there are fewer people trading up to larger premises. I was thinking about this one morning when we were trying to reduce the amount of clutter that we have in a spare room. Much of it dates from our sons' childhoods, and we were debating what we (and they) wanted to keep and what could go. As we sorted through the books, toys, games, university notes etc. I came across a container of marbles. They weren't the sort that I remember from my youth - clear glass with a piece of curved colour in the centre - rather they were dark glass with iridescent colours, some resembling the pattern that oil makes on water.

Immediately I saw them I recalled the fascination that these jewel-like objects have for children, and I re-lived it myself again as I carefully polished each one on the carpet. As I looked at the colours, higlights and reflections it occurred to me that they might make an interesting photograph and so I set up the tripod, put the macro lens on the camera and took several shots. In my photograph the marbles look faceted rather than sperical, a result of the reflected straight lines of the tripod and the room.

Monday, September 05, 2011

On a visit to the minster town of Southwell in Nottinghamshire a while ago I passed the cottage on Church Street where the Bramley apple originated. The story of this famous fruit goes like this.

In 1809 the first tree with Bramley apples grew from pips planted in the garden by a little girl by name of Mary Ann Brailsford. In 1846 the cottage, the garden and its apple tree were bought by a local butcher, Matthew Bramley. A local nurseryman, Henry Merryweather, in 1846 sought permission to take cuttings from the tree and sell the ensuing apples. Bramley agreed with the proviso that the apples should bear his name: they became known as Bramley's Seedlings. Henry Merryweather sold his first apples in 1862. Over the next forty years the variety of apples grew rapidly in fame and popularity as cooking apples, gaining many horticultural awards and prizes. The original tree was blown down in a storm in 1900 but with some careful work was restored to growth and it continues to produce apples today.

The Bramley remains the most popular cooking apple in Britain and many gardeners choose it as their "cooker" to grow alongside a dessert apple tree. I have one in my garden. This year, due to the unusual weather patterns, the apples have been ready for picking three weeks to a month earlier than usual. Yesterday, with the weather forecasters predicting strong winds for the next few days I decided to do the third picking of the season and used a ladder to get some of the bigger, riper, fruit from the higher branches. As I was cleaning them up ready for storage I took this photograph. It's not much of a shot but when I look at it I see not only the firm green and red Bramleys but also the pies, crumbles, cakes etc that they will provide during the colder, darker winter days.

Sunday, September 04, 2011

I have mixed feelings about nasturtiums. I like the leaf shape, the colours and shapes of the flowers and, by and large their trailing growth habit. I especially like the varieties with dark green/blue leaves and deep red flowers - "Empress of India" is a good example of this type. What I'm not so keen on is the way they attract and succumb to blackfly, how they can become very untidy, especially in dry weather, and the fact that once you've had them you can have them for years after because of the prolofic and tenacious character of their seeds.

However, some of these traits that I see as negatives can be turned to good advantage. A nearby Methodist chapel with a small garden features banks of self-sustaining nasturtiums year after year. At the end of each season the dying plants are pulled out, the soil and self-sown seeds turned over, and the next year the plants appear again offering their red, orange and yellow points of colour among the green, parasol-like leaves. A lot of beauty for very little effort, particularly since the blanket of leaves and flowers suppresses most of the weeds.

Today's photograph shows some of these nasturtiums that have grown over and through the iron railings that enclose the garden. They are coming to towards the end of their prolific growth and have almost hidden the street sign. As I passed by I thought it would make a different, for me, kind of shot.

Friday, September 02, 2011

Today's Guardian newspaper carries a report about the winner and runners-up of the 2011 Carbuncle Cup. An award conceived by Building Design magazine, the annual announcement of the buildings so honoured is abhorred by most of the architectural profession. Usually, however, the judges choose worthy recipients, buildings that are either blots on the landscape or which take mediocrity to new heights.

This year's recipient of the main award is the BBC's £600 million MediaCity UK - not for the overblown name that has been applied to the banal group of glass and concrete boxes at Salford Quays - but for the sheer dullness of the architecture. Jonathan Glancey perceptively notes that, "From a distance MediaCity UK looks like one of those sprawling, faceless office blocks, shunted alongside bleak city squares, that were common in eastern Europe 50 years ago." That's not a view from which anyone with an interest in architecture is likely to demur. One criticism of the 2011 Carbuncle awards that I would make, however, is that the new Museum of Liverpool (a runner-up) should have claimed the first place. This building, again to quote Glancey, "defaces the city's famous Pier Head and cocks a snook at its magnificent neighbours". I recall seeing, a number of years ago, some of the proposals for the new buildings in this area of the city. I don't remember seeing this wedge-shaped lump - more skate-park obstacle than museum - featured.

The building shown in today's photograph is part of a development (More London) that featured in the 2007 Carbuncle Cup short-list. There's no doubt that in totality and in certain details More London deserved its place on that list. However, I find that some of the details of the buildings, and a few of the buildings themselves are quite interesting and certainly photographically engaging. Take this one. I've passed it many times, photographed it a few, and this shot shows off what I consider its very appealing confusion to best effect.